


Far Too Many Nights

by toomanysunkenships



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Except the twins and Luna, Harry swears a lot, Harrymort - Freeform, M/M, Mentions of Smut, Mpreg, Nonexplicit, Swearing, grey!Harry, light bashing, maybe a little dark!Harry, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-09-01
Packaged: 2018-05-16 20:55:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5840692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toomanysunkenships/pseuds/toomanysunkenships
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is swept to a graveyard at the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. He expected fame, fortune, glory: all of the things that would come with placing his hand on the trophy beside Cedric Diggory’s. Instead he found Lord Voldemort. He escapes with his life, but not before Voldemort discovers a terrible secret that will bind them together for all eternity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Blood of the Enemy: Soon to be Converted

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I'm really bad at this. But FTGOUA will be finished by Feb 14 at the latest and I am almost done with the next chapter for Snakes Bite. I truly couldn't resist posting a new story.
> 
> Disclaimer: I am not the glorious Queen Rowling, much to my disappointment.
> 
> Parseltongue is underlined:)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Went back and edited out some typos and formatting issues:)

**Prologue**

“Kill the spare!” orders a high, cold voice.

A flash of green light, all too familiar, and Cedric falls to the ground dead.

“Cedric!” I cry uselessly.

I look around for the voice but find no one except Wormtail. I stare at him in hatred, wishing desperately that I could steal his breath away the way he stole Cedric’s. He’s worse than a rat, not even a man, lower than the lowest of all life forms. I hate him with every fiber of my being. He is a weak and cowardly man incapable of loyalty. I could kill him right now. I could. I should. I’ve never truly felt hate for anyone besides Wormtail and the Dursleys. He betrayed my parents. He condemned me to the Dursleys.

I laugh to myself.  I’ve never felt this much toward Voldemort himself, who I suspect is here and pulling the strings. I’ve only ever tried to escape him, never to harm him. I don’t agree with what his followers do, but at the same time there’s no love lost between me and the Muggles.

Of course the Light side’s Golden Boy would never think those things, so I’ve kept them to myself. I’ve been thinking to myself that I may not be their “Golden One.”

I mostly trip my way into a crouch behind a grave. There’s no use in dying before I can get to Wormtail. Or safety. Whichever happens first.

The cold, unforgiving surface of the headstone bites against my fingers. All of my veins pulse with heat, with anger, with the desire to escape and to cause as much harm as I can. I want blood. That’s another thing I’m not supposed to think about. My job is to stay innocent, to stay cowed, and to feel guilty about fighting. But they don’t own me. They don’t know me. They suspect nothing. I was almost a Slytherin for a reason, after all.

My body flies through the air and smashes painfully against a tall marble stone. I clench my jaw and grimace but before I can stand Wormtail rushes forward and with a single word, coiled rope winds itself around me. My scar pulses and begins to bleed.

Voldemort isn’t..a part of him, the way he was with Quirrell, is he?

“Let me go!" I shout.

He walks away from me instead. No Voldemort, then.

Grunting as though he’s doing hard work, Wormtail moves into my field of vision, which is severely limited due to the way my glasses are tilted across my face. He pushes a large stone cauldron, big enough to bathe in, until it rests in the center of the graves and fallen brambles. He places the bundle that must be Voldemort inside almost lovingly. I struggle for breath as I push against my bindings and squirm against the cold marble of the grave I’m pressed against.

Wormtail says something but I can’t focus on the words as he drops a small bone into the cauldron. He picks up a small twig and lifts his wand.

What is he doing?

He scurries to me and cuts a long gash down my arm with a small knife. I suppose that used to be the twig. I let out a shout as he drops the bloody knife into the frothing, steaming cauldron. Before I can look away he chops off his hand in one fell swoop, screaming in pain with joyous eyes. His bloodied stump drips on the ground. I stare in horrified awe. He doesn’t seem to notice that he’s probably going to bleed to death.The cauldron almost immediately begins to bubble over. The purest gold mixed with a deep blood red falls to the ground. Wormtail tears his eyes away from the spectacle to stare at me in bewilderment.

“It..couldn’t be,” he says.

I stare in horror and fascination as Voldemort climbs out. He’s so very pale with shining red eyes and snake like nostrils. He’s thin, almost dangerously so, and completely naked. He stands there like it’s nothing to be so exposed in front of me. I stare at him, dragging my eyes down his slender body slowly. I should fear this form, but I can’t.

“I have returned,” he says dramatically while Wormtail dresses him.

“Wow, didn’t notice,” I say.

He looks at his long, long fingers as he drags them down his tall, slender body as though examining himself. I’d like to make him a platter of sandwiches. I laugh to myself at the notion. He walks to me, draped in long, dark robes and gazes into my eyes.

“You would do well to respect me, _boy_ ,” he says.

I try to lean backwards but am stopped by the ropes and the headstone at my back.

“ I’m not afraid of you ,” I hiss angrily.

“What was that? ”he asks, “  Say it again. ”

My voice shakes a little but I repeat myself. His smile is almost beastly. I underestimated him.

“The protection that once ran through your veins alone is now shared with mine. You _should_ be frightened. See,” he says while tracing my scar, “I can touch you now.”

My scar pounds against my skull like it wants to join its master. Colors fly across the air, reds and blues as I try to make him stop. It’s like fireworks meeting grenades over and over again. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I want it to stop. I need it to stop. It no longer hurts when he touches me, that would make things easy for me, and we can’t fucking have that, can we? It feels marvelous. I pant raggedly.

And it flows. My thoughts and dreams slide through my mind like a film reel and I can’t stop it from happening. I watch as Voldemort tries to kill me and I watch as I stab the diary. I see my ink covered hands, and for the first time I see it as blood. I feel something I didn’t notice before as I was dying, my scar tingling and relaxing like it felt more whole. But why?

And then I see him when he was Tom Riddle and not some ridiculous pomped up name. I see him crouching under an orphanage. I wonder why but then it comes to me. War. Bombings. I see him bullied and tortured by Muggles. I see his face full of angry tears and my heart breaks. He lets me go immediately, pulling his hand back as though it were stung.

“Stop!” I shout, though for what I don’t know. He looks as stunned as I, and he’s no longer touching me.

“Yes, I can touch you. I see now. _You are mine_ ,” Voldemort says.

“I would never! Don’t say that!” I protest weakly.

He slices through my restraints with one hand and I fall to the ground in a dizzy heap. He looks down at me with a smirk on his face. Quite unconvincingly as well. Sharing a mind for what felt like several minutes may have had an effect on my ability to lie to him. Or something, I don’t fucking know.

“Wormtail, come here!” Voldemort says.

When the world rights itself I see that he’s summoned his followers to watch. He tosses my wand at the ground in front of me.

“ Prove me wrong, Harry Potter. Prove you do not belong to me.  Stand and fight,” he says.

I climb to my feet with my wand held tightly in my fist. I’m not afraid of him. I pity him because of what I’ve seen. I wonder what I’d be if I faced what he did. I need to focus on escape. Destroying him is not my goal today.

The world shakes beneath me and the clouds darken. My heart twists into a knot.

Destroying him is not my goal at all.

I look him in the eyes and shout, “Expelliarmus!”

 

OoOoOoO

 

“I knew they wouldn’t convict you, Harry. You had the law on your side,” Mr. Weasley says as I walk out of the trial room.

Why is Dumbledore ignoring me? He didn’t look in my direction one time during the trial. I haven’t seen him around the headquarters, either. Is it my fault? Is he staying away because of something I’ve done? Maybe he knows about what happened during the duel in the graveyard. Maybe he knows why our wands connected like that. Maybe he knows about what happened when Voldemort touched my face. Maybe Voldemort was right when he said..

I shiver.

“I’m excited for dinner, aren’t you? Molly’s making meatballs,” Mr. Weasley says, “she’s brilliant at meatballs.”

Dumbledore knows. I’ll bet he knows and he’s disgusted. He regrets believing a single word I’ve ever said. He knows that I sympathize with and pity Voldemort. He knows I’m not sure about the Light side. He knows that I thought Diary Tom was attractive. (He _was_ .) He wonders if maybe I _am_ the Heir of Slytherin. Or the Heir of Slytherin’s heir. Is that what I am? Is that why I can speak Parseltongue? _Is it_?

“That phone booth we went through, how does it work when Muggles use it?” Mr. Weasley asks.

That’s it! He regrets trusting me. He misses his fancy titles and he thinks everything has always been my fault.

“They’ve almost got a magic of their own, don’t they?” Mr. Weasley asks.

And it has been, hasn’t it? If I hadn’t tried to be so courteous and just touched that Portkey before Cedric, he’d be alive. He’d be alive and maybe Voldemort wouldn’t believe he owns me.

“I expect you’re a bit shocked, Harry, but it was always going to go that way in the end,” Mr. Weasley says after we’ve walked nearly to the elevator again without my saying a word.

I feel badly that I can’t seem to focus on what he’s saying. I know that he wants to have a conversation with me, but I’m too distracted to participate.

Lucius Malfoy stands, shaking hands with the Minister of Magic, blocking our way to the elevator.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Mr. Weasley asks.

“I came to deliver a message,” Mr. Malfoy says while looking directly into my eyes, “to the Minister, not that it’s any of your business.”

The pause felt intentional. He quickly fists his hand over his heart before barely lowering his head, a movement the others miss because they’re exchanging pleasantries.

“Hello, Potter,” he says.

My mouth drops open in shock. He’s addressing me? And why the bow?

“Hello, sir,” I say automatically.

I could wonder at myself, but I don’t have much time to. After saying goodbye to the Minister, Mr. Malfoy brushes past both of us. As he does, he slips something into my hand. I almost drop it in surprise and from lack of time to react, but I don’t. If Mr. Weasley were to spot it he would take it away from me. The Minister nods and walks away. If he had noticed the point of a secret exchange would be ruined.

Maybe I should give it to someone. Throw it away, at least. But I know that whatever is in this piece of parchment is going to change everything. I slip it into my pocket. This may be a mistake. But hey, I wasn’t almost a Slytherin for nothing. Or something like that. I laugh to myself.

“Yes, Mr. Weasley. Meatballs sound brilliant.”


	2. Shades of Grey Slowly Darken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part One: Letters To Voldemort

I look at the letter I have ignored for so long, clutching it so tightly the edges curl. I've read it more than once, more than a dozen times. It still makes no sense at all.

_Harry Potter,_

_I am sure you find yourself shocked, disgusted, and perhaps afraid when you see that you have received a letter from one such as myself. Do feel so, if you wish, though emotions are what keep you weak. Pliant. Don't allow yourself to feel anything at all, if you wish to overcome weakness._

_Potter, I have discovered that you belong to me in a way that-complicates things. It leaves it impossible for me to allow you to continue on with your studies at Hogwarts the way you have in years past. You are a part of me, and I you. It is a curious thing that I have discussed at length with my knowledgeable followers that are unwavering in their loyalty._

_I suppose you are shocked that I consult with others. Perhaps your image of me is flawed, having been filtered through the beady eyes of one Albus Dumbledore._

_The reaction of our wands in the graveyard was due to a connection between us that cannot be denied, or undone, without terrible injury to us both._

_You will report to me, and me alone, constantly throughout the year. You may_ _not_ _inform Albus Dumbledore or any of his colleagues of anything that I tell you, that you tell me privately, or anything involving me at all without my explicit permission._

_Include these sentences as an oath, signed with the blood quill included in this letter. It will make the oath binding._

_Pain is but a means to glorious victory,_

_Lord Voldemort_

My fingers grip the bit of now folded parchment I hold. _Voldemort_ sent _me_ a letter. A letter with no perceivable poisons in it or curses on it. A simple, seemingly harmless letter.

Does he think I'll just bend to his will? He's a madman,a murderer. A wounded soul. Why would I want to let him keep tabs on me? What should I do about this? The first thing Hermione would say is that I should tell Dumbledore. Failing that, she would hole herself up in the library. But Dumbledore doesn't care about me. No one cared enough to tell me what was happening to me. _Me!_ If they cared, maybe someone might have noticed that fucking _Voldemort_ thinks I belong to him and is sending me letters, and is WINNING ME OVER. He cares a hell of a lot more than anyone else. I'm disturbed by the letter, disturbed that he thinks I won't hesitate in answering him. And yet, what would happen if I didn't? No one's _told_ me. As though my sensitive, _child_ ears couldn't take any scary words about the bad man who wants to hurt me. Hurt me? I look down at the parchment again. Voldemort has tried repeatedly to kill me.

Is this a new tactic of his? Make nice with the Boy Hero time?

I can't help but wish for peace. A normal life in the Wizarding world where my only worry was my grades, just like every fucking body else. That would be nice. But _no_ . The quill sits in between my legs. A blood quill. I don't know what it will do, but I know it won't be good. Binding. Bound to Voldemort. Chains and whips and leashes flash through my mind. And wedding rings. I blush. I know that I shouldn't be doing this, that I should tell someone, _anyone_ , but I want to feel reckless for once. I want to know something no one else but me knows, and I want to get to the bottom of this madness. I place the blood quill against the page without a quiver in my hand, scratch my name across the paper (wincing slightly), and I am bound. I use a regular quill for the rest of the missive and roll Voldemort’s quill inside of it. I hope to never use it again. I tie it securely to Hedwig’s leg and summon a bandage.

“Hedwig, I hope you don't find trouble. Take this to,” I lower my voice, “Voldemort.”

I press the bandage against my bleeding hand. Without hesitation she flies away. It's almost like she was waiting to fly away to him the entire time.

oOoOoOo

I lay on the bed I’ve claimed as my own. Someone will wonder where I am soon, or fetch me to help clean something or another. Fishing my elbows off of the bed, I set about actually replying to Voldemort.

_You have a point, if a disturbing one. I can no longer claim the side of the Light. But even so, the Dark does not quite suit me, not with the way your followers have shown it. Perhaps I am a mix of the best parts of both. Is it so wrong to fancy myself Grey? I don’t think so. Truly, I am. But I am not neutral, no. I have aligned myself with you, for better or worse._

_I’ve forgiven you.  And believing what you’ve told me about Dumbledore, I cannot forgive him. And in return for your information on the old man and his plots, I admit I regret not choosing Slytherin. I regret not shaking Draco Malfoy’s hand all those years ago. Perhaps we could have been friends, perhaps- He is quite beautiful, in a sense. But, nevermind that._

_I don’t know how to address you. It feels strange to write so casually the name you have chosen, and entirely too bizarre to write your other name._

_I hear footsteps on the stairs. It would be too suspicious to send it off in a flurry now, and I’ll get more time if they believe I’m writing a love letter, so thank you for the ten extra minutes of freedom and feel free to disregard the following._

_My love, I write to you, the dearest flower of my heart-_

I sigh heavily, as though my ideas aren’t coming together correctly.

“Ginny, do you mind not reading over my shoulder?” I say.

“Who is that to?” she asks, wrinkling her nose.

I look away from her as if hiding a blush, grateful that I thought to cover the actual letter with my arm.

“It’s a secret,” I say.

“Mum’ll be delighted. I hope he’s nice. But honestly, that ‘flower of my heart’ bit is kind of overdoing it,” she says.

I scoff.

“He-who-is-none-of-your-business is a _refined_ man. To say any less is to devalue him!” I say.

She laughs. I almost fail to keep a straight face. She stands by the door and makes a big show of being busy.

_-to tell you that I have devoted myself entirely to your purpose._

My hand shakes as a laugh as quietly as possible, leaving a blot of ink on the paper. I form it into a heart.

_-Please accept my feeble admirations and agree to court me._

_She’s gone but I’ll send this as it is. I wouldn’t like to leave it lying around long enough to learn how to get ink off of parchment, lest the minions of the Light discover my allegiance or believe I’m gone over the moon for you._

_Harry_

 

I attach the letter to Hedwig and smile. Perhaps it is a bit off, to joke with Voldemort and switch sides, but it’s my reality and I’m happy with it.


	3. Inky Fingers

Now that any evidence of my ever having done anything potentially dangerous is gone, I feel slightly uneasy. Could the people I care about be in danger from the things I’ve told him? And why am I just now considering that? I didn’t hesitate in writing about how they’ve mistreated me, and took his assessment of my supposed “family” at face value. He has several good points. Ron rushes into the room, as per usual, to drag me downstairs. Usually it’s a lot of spying on whoever’s come to visit, extendable ears, and nicking mail. But tonight,

“They’ll let us into the meeting for tonight,” Ron says excitedly, “but we should hurry before Mum changes their minds.”

The meeting isn’t too interesting, mostly everyone speaking around any actual subjects and Mrs. Weasley yelling that we’re too young and sensitive for this type of thing, because I’m fucking _five_ , or didn’t you know?

“They’re all my children, all of them, and I don’t think any of them should be here,” she says.

I just manage to keep my scoff internal. Strange how I didn’t notice it before, how even for a family too poor to afford a wand, Ron always managed to have spending money. I wonder if he knows. He looks over at me and smiles. He couldn’t, could he? He was my first friend, my best friend. Is. He is. The words I was planning to let tumble from my mouth in angry protest falter.

Who can I trust? Can I really trust the man who’s tried to kill me so many times? My.. I cough. What is he to me now? Am I a Death Eater? The Dark wasn’t so bad when explained properly. Maybe Death Eaters aren’t horrible. Just the crazy ones. Like Bellatrix Black, surely she’s wrong. But.. I look to my left. Snape doesn’t seem like he _could_ kill a million Muggles. As terrifying as he is, I doubt he could kill _one_.

“They’ll have questions, all I’m saying is it’s better they hear it from us than from other places than other places, where the information might be less than accurate,” Sirius says.

A reasonable statement, but none of the questions I have can be answered by anyone here. Perhaps Dumbledore, if he was ever around. Maybe...maybe I could ask Voldemort. He said that he would answer my questions, within reason, and he has.

“They ought to go to bed. There’s no need for that kind of talk right now,” Mrs. Weasley says.

“Then when?” Sirius asks loudly.

He looks at me expectantly. I can see that he’s trying to get me to take his side, and one week ago, before Voldemort’s letter, I probably would have. But now I want to keep to myself. I need to be alone. I need to understand.

“I am a bit tired,” I say.

Ignoring the wounded expression on Sirius’s face and the confused expression on Snape’s, I stand and walk through the door. Mrs. Weasley beams at me and I fake a smile.

* * *

 

Having been abandoned, Ginny and I sit in a compartment with Neville and a fourth year Ravenclaw named Luna Lovegood. She’d reading a magazine upside down but seems to be enjoying it

“She’s strange,” Ginny whispers, “but there’s nowhere else.”

I shrug. I’d rather sit with this girl than Ginny. After Neville shows us the plant his grandmother gave him, and a Scourgify, I set about answering the latest letter from Voldemort. I unroll the parchment and catch the heavy silver ring as it tumbles onto my fingers. It’s warm to the touch. The band is thin and I can tell it will mold perfectly to my finger. It’s an unobtrusive thing that somehow still commands my attention. A black snake encircles the ring of metal, curling up until its head peeks out behind an emerald jewel.

It matches my eyes. This is surreal.

“What's that, Harry?” Neville asks.

I slip it onto my finger quickly.

“ A birthday present. It's of no consequence,”I say.

I turn my attention to the letter itself.

_There's no need for need to address myself in this, as I know whom I am writing to and you know who is writing to you._

I snicker to myself. You-Know-Who is writing to me, indeed.

 _In addition, the risks involved if it were discovered who you are writing to are too large to be considered collateral damage._ _I suggest that since you feel the need to address me, you choose a moniker, something no one would associate with my true identity. As for your asinine request, I accept. Simply to aggravate you, advance our cause by tying you permanently to the dark, and to teach you to watch your words. You are required to wear the enclosed ring at all times. Every moment. You are not to question this directive. Simply assume I protect what's mine. And you, brat, are mine. For better or for worse, to parrot you._

_Include a detailed account of every instance Dumbledore placed you in harmful situations._

_Represent me well. Do not disappoint._

Accidentally engaged to Voldemort. Only me. I fold the parchment into a square. The train comes to a stop.

* * *

 

”Potter,” Malfoy says.

I stand still in the hallway. First his father, now him. I suppose Lucius Malfoy is the trusted advisor Voldemort spoke of. I nod.

“Malfoy,” I say.

“Don't hesitate to call upon me,” he says stiffly, “and Malfoy is my father.”

I smile to myself. I seem to be very valuable suddenly.

“I'll remember that, Draco,” I say.

He nods, dismissed.

I make my way up to the common room and pull out my quill.

_A nickname for a man like you. That is certainly something I never pictured myself doing. I'm tempted to pick something sappy and embarrassing. I'm tempted to call you by your given first name. But… for some reason I won't do that unless you give me permission. For some reason I care._

_You aren't putting potions in your ink or anything, are you?_

_No, I trust you. Funny circumstance, isn't it? I trust the most dangerous man I know of._

_I have you to thank for the Malfoy brat attempting human interaction. Thank you very much._

_Phoenixes are nice. They're a powerful symbol as well. Birth, rebirth, life, immortality. That's what you want, isn't it? I translated your name. Flight from death, isn't it? Phoenix in its own right._

_That isn't what I'll call you, though. The Phoenix is_ _their_ _symbol. They've claimed immortality for themselves, the ones I used to believe in. Is it strange that I don't hate them? They're misguided and corrupt. But I don't hate them. Do I hate you? I wonder. I'm not sure anymore. You listen and understand. You treat me like I'm 15 instead of perpetually being that one year old child helpless in the glow of green._

_I know what I want to call you. Dorian. Oh, he's my favorite literary character. And for all my limited knowledge of you, you're just like him. I plan to be your Basil Hallward, if you'll let me, but I won't let you kill me. As convoluted as it might seem, I plan to save you._


	4. Part Two: Sleeping With Serpents

_I'm familiar with the story you've compared me to_

Voldemort reads Muggle literature?

_Strange that you picked such legendary lovers. Yes, I am well versed in Muggle literature and quite capable of interpreting innuendo. Will I be your downfall, then? I shan't call you Basil, though you may fancy yourself the type. Not only does it make the use of a moniker obvious to all, but it's cliche, a thing I refuse to be in any eyes._

_I do plan to groom you as my second. The Second, if you will. Put your newfound French translator to work. We will be legendary, eternal. You only second to me- I only second to you. Both equals and rivals. Do send me the tales of your misdeeds at Hogwarts, including reports of the "Malfoy brat", as you so phrased._

That sounds, … well, fuck.

_Attempt to ally yourself with someone trustworthy and not so hexable as the twits in Gryffindor. Write frequently,_ _never_ _take your ring off, and do try to conduct yourself better._

I stare at the page in frustration. Five minutes later, two more owls fly overhead. They drop a book into my lap, which I instinctively cover with my hands. I peel a note from the front.

_Deux,_

_Your education in such matters is entirely lacking. Do try to brush up._

_-Dorian_

I smile to myself and bite my lip. From across the room Draco makes an obvious attempt to catch my attention.

I nod at him slightly, then whisper, "Oh, bloody hell."

He walks over to me, firmly ignoring the crowd of gawking Gryffindors.

"Is there something you need?" I ask.

"Not in particular, Potter," he says.

I narrow my eyes.

"Then why are you over here?" I ask.

"You're alone," he says.

I nod.

"Quite clearly," I say.

"Is that..by choice?" he asks.

"Not particularly, Draco," I sigh.

What can he possibly want? I somehow doubt Malfoy was permitted to tell Draco just why I am important. Why I have gone from enemy No. 1 to leader No. 2. I expect the order was somewhat similar to "Don't antagonize Potter. It would not be to your favor."

He sits beside me.

"This is the Gryffindor table," I say.

He says nothing.

"And you're sitting here," I say.

"Quite clearly," he mocks.

I look at him.

"Are we friends, then?" I ask.

"Are you eating or talking, Potter?" Draco asks.

I smile and take a bite of my muffin. He looks at something behind me.

"Potter, you and I need to talk," Snape hisses before hauling me to his office. I grip my book tightly and attempt to swallow the piece of muffin threatening to lodge itself in my throat.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

He pulls a letter from his robes.

"What is this? Potter, what have you gotten into now?" he yells.

I roll my eyes.

"Pick a side, would you?" I say.

"Have you lost your mind, boy?" he asks.

I stare at him defiantly.

"What are you planning to do about this?" I ask.

"I should go to Dumble-" he says.

"You wouldn't if you value your life," I say.

He looks at me in shock, probably looking to see where James' son and Dumbledore's pawn went. I'm the bride of Voldemort now. I smile.

"Did you just threaten me, Potter?" Snape asks.

I smirk.

"Be that as it may, I will not. You may have lost me my place here as a spy, boy," he says.

I shrug my shoulders.

"Good choice," I say.

Voldemort doesn't need Snape here, he's got me. As their (the so called Light side) greatest warrior, which seems like something that shouldn't be true but apparently is, I can go much farther than a "reformed" Death Eater ever could. Not mentioning I've been afforded a higher position in Voldemort's ranks than he has. Than he will possibly ever be. Perhaps that's arrogant, but I don't see Voldemort sending him courting gifts.

I bite the inside of my cheeks and twist my ring around my finger.

"Was there a point you were working to or….?" I say.

He scowls.

"Everyone else has the good sense to act civil," I say.

"Go to class, Potter," he says.

I salute him as I slip out of the door.

* * *

_Dorian,_

_I hate this Umbridge woman. She's a stupid pink ball of evil. She gave me a week of detentions, just for saying you exist, during which I wrote for hours with a blood quill. She hates me. Every time I breathe she sends me out of the room for being disruptive. I wish I could shout,_

" _ **Do you fucking know who you're talking to? I am Voldemort's bride."**_

_I've started referring to myself in that way. I think it's amusing._

_Draco is alright. We don't talk, but he provides an empty companionship. I've distanced myself from the Weasleys. Sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't go back. I suppose I'm lonely._

_Could I see you?_

_-Deux_

* * *

I pull my covers aside and start to climb in. My foot meets a folded stack of clothes just under the sheet. I detach the paper.

_Wear this to Hogsmeade tomorrow. Be at the Shrieking Shack. -Dorian_

I clutch the note to my chest as I fall asleep.

* * *

The strange places I've taken to spending time in to ignore Ron and Hermione have left me feeling isolated. I suppose I am isolated. But that leaves me excited and nervous to see Voldemort today. Voldemort, of all people. I put on the clothes he chose. They fit me well. I wonder why.

"Harry! Where do you want to go first?" Hermione asks.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I promised Draco," I say.

Lying shamelessly.

Her face falls. I feel bad. She was-is?-a good friend before we were on opposite sides of a war. But now I'm off to meet my- Voldemort, I'm going to see Voldemort. And everything has changed.


	5. Snakes and Sorcery

“Hello,” I say a bit awkwardly.

It’s difficult to figure out how to react when our wands aren’t out. When I spent an hour getting ready to see him. What do you say to your enemy when you’re their second? When you- I twist my ring around my finger.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort says.

The band of metal heats up from the force of my twisting.

I laugh. We’ve been standing at opposite ends of the Shrieking Shack, just staring at each other. It’s different when it’s real. His long fingers beckon me closer. I step forward. 

I want to fall, just a little trip. Play it off as an accident. Twist my ankle. But I stand firm.

“Where has your proffered trust gone?” he asks.

I move closer to him still. He grabs my arm and pulls me into a hug.

_ What? _

And we are gone with a sharp pop.

“Kidnapper!” I shout, when I’ve wiped my mouth and the world’s stopped spinning. 

Voldemort smiles at me. That feels weird to think. But he does it anyway.

“They told me never to talk to strangers, or I’d get stolen,” I say.

“Quiet, brat,” Voldemort says, but he’s laughing.

“You hugged me,” I say.

He looks at me for a long time and pulls me into a bedroom.

“Stay here,” he says while walking away.

I twist my ring ferociously.

“You could feed me first,” I quip.

He shuts the door.

When he returns he hands me a necklace.

“I can’t eat that,” I say.

He closes my fingers over it.

“My affections cannot be bought,” I say.

He sighs. ( _ Sighs! _ ) I think that sometimes I forget my “enemies” are people. They sigh and roll their eyes. They have friends and enemies too. Things hurt them.

“What hurts you?” I ask.

“Put it on,” he says.

I fasten it around my neck.

“S?” I say.

“Slytherin. Keep it on,” he says.

“Why?” I ask.

He makes a sound that is nearly a growl.

“You don't listen, you're stubborn. Why can't you understand that you are mine?” Voldemort asks.

He presses his lips against mine. Those same fucking stars swirl in my head dangerously.

“Why is my life so complicated? Can't you just kill me? Why won't you kill me anymore?” I ask.

“Do you _ want _ me to kill you?” he asks.

I twist my ring and shrug.

“I don't remember what normal is. This seems like normal,” I say.

“You're forbidden from thinking like that. I'm not going to kill you,” he says, “Get in the fireplace.”

Even though I know he means the floo, I start laughing.

“You need clothing. Narcissa and Bellatrix will assist you. Tonight you will be introduced to the Inner Circle,” he says.

“No! No bloody way will I be going anywhere with a crazy person, Voldemort!” I say.

“Tom. You alone may call me Tom. You alone are my equal. Together we will win the war,” he says.

I say nothing and glare.

“Get into the floo, Harry. You'll find many things Albus Dumbledore told you untrue,” he says.

So I do.

* * *

 

”I've told you before, Harry. Call me Narcissa, or Cissa if you like. No need to be so formal,” Mrs. Malfoy says.

I swing my feet against the chair and smile.

“If you're really sure,” I say.

“You should be more formal,” Lucius mutters.

“I don't have a title,” I say.

After a significant amount of crucios and a well placed killing curse, what I  _ did _ have was respect. The Death Eaters have all received the memo: Harry Potter is not to be mistreated.I don't mind Tom's cruelty on my behalf. It makes me feel secure in my choices. Learning the reason I'm never to remove my jewelry is that there are numerous protection and tracking charms on them didn't hurt either.

“Master Harry!” a house elf says, my house elf.

“That would do,” Lucius says.

I make a face at him.

“Please don't,” I say.

“Lord Master be needing you,” the elf says.

“Thank you, Mischa,” I say.

He blushes. I follow him into the room I share with Tom. I rest my hand on the couch that I commandeered after it became apparent that he wanted us to sleep in the same bed. He sees no problem with that. Fiance or not, I see very, very many.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Come here,” he says.

I don't listen very well.

“What do you want?” I ask.

He glares at me. I sigh and sit beside him.

“You will no longer avoid the subject. Why won't you fight at my side?” he asks.

“I don't want to be a murderer? The people I once called friends, best friends, would be the first to go as a Muggleborn and a so called blood traitor?” I say.

“Magic is dying, my little Patronus. It's polluted by the Muggle world. Our traditions are dying out to make Mudbloods more comfortable. There are hardly any purebloods left, and they will soon be gone,” he replies.

_ His little Patronus _ ? If he didn't kill six people in front of me yesterday I would assume he was under a spell or had taken some brain addling potion.

“Why did you-what….  _ fuck _ , “I say.

I'm quite proud of my conversation ability.

“You are a light that chases away darkness. Namely insanity, “Tom says.

I twist my ring around my finger.

“Do you have to fix it in this way?”

He touches my arm. I shiver.

“What do you suggest I do? I see no other way,” Tom says.

My suggestion? He wants my input?

“And why have you slept on that poorly conjured couch for a month instead of the bed? Surely it can't be comfortable,” he says.

“Because, Tom,” I say.

He pulls me against his chest and lays backwards onto the bed. He traps me with his legs. I don't think escape is a worry; however; my head is swimming and I may be physically unable to stand.

“Because I… because, “I fumble.

Because of this. Because of the dreams that float down the bond.

“Because I'd like to kiss you,” I say.

I pause.

“Shit, that was out loud, wasn't it? “I say.

He chuckles and pulls my face against his.

“Tonight you will sleep here. I never had a bed like this in the orphanage I mentioned. A bed this large feels lonely,” he says.

Again with that maddening vulnerability. I relax against his chest.

“Tom,” I whisper, “I won't leave you lonely anymore.”

He turns off the light without his wand and pulls the cover around us. It's such a soft bed, and he's right, I'm terrible at transfiguring couches. I close my eyes and just feel his long, long fingers twisting through my hair. And if a single moment made sense, it wouldn’t be my life. 


	6. Questions and Answers, Apologies, Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left the last page at home so expect your promised chapter late tonight or tomorrowish

“Why am I here?” I ask.

Tom looks up at me with a strange look on his face.

“Whatever are you talking about?” he asks.

I shrug.

“You took me away from Hogwarts and-” I say.

“I took you away from that woman who dared to harm you, from the friends who stole from you, from the old man who refused to protect you like I have,” Tom says, rather impatiently.

“Touchy,” I mutter.

No one has ever decided to give a fuck about my welfare before, and I can’t figure out if I’m disturbed or comforted.

“I just trusted you,” I say, mildly horrified.

He raises an eyebrow.

“I just trusted you and it doesn’t make any sense and I’m going to get myself killed,” I say.

“I did wonder when you would realize,” Tom says.

I take a deep breath.

“Why did I trust you? I never even asked for any proof and now we’re _engaged_ and, fucking hell I’m going to pass out,” I say.

He stands quickly and holds his hands out in front of me. Poised to protection, even now.

“I do have evidence, Harrison,” he says, “Severus brought it to my attention, and provided memories. Memories that I can show you if-”

“No!” I say.

“No?” Tom asks.

“No, I do trust you,” I say.

And then I do pass out.

* * *

 

I wake up with a worried looking Narcissa Malfoy wiping a rag across my face.

“Have I died, then?” I say.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You fainted,” she says.

I smile.

“It’s just...odd,” I say.

“Discovering your enemy is not quite what you thought often is,” she says.

I laugh.

“Are you aiming to replace Dumbledore, then?” I ask.

She frowns.

“Hardly,” she says.

I nod.

Lucius peers around the corner.

“Swell, you haven’t managed to kill him. Little Master, I’m glad to see you well,” Lucius says.

I roll my eyes.

“Lucius, you really ought to loosen up. I’m just Harry,” I say.

“Not to me,” he says, “I came to tell you about the raid briefing, you are to be there.”

I climb off of the bed reluctantly.

“This Dark Lord Junior stuff is no fun,” I say.

* * *

 

I hold my necklace in my fist tightly. It somehow makes small talk with Draco much easier.

“I wasn’t at the meeting, remember? I don’t want to hear that you’re doing well,” at this he looks over his shoulder, “and I don’t really care how your plan to play happy families with the Dark Lord is going. The _raid_ , Harry! Tell me.”

“You’re exhausting,” I say.

“I’m _bored_ ,” he says.

I shrug my shoulders.

“Then maybe you should take the Mark, leave me out of it,” I say.

“I can’t take the Mark. Dumbledore would know and- I _can’t!I”_ Draco mutters.

“Fine. It’s nothing really. Severus gave word they have a base in this abandoned warehouse. I wasn’t really listening because….” I say.

Because Tom was sitting right next to me and the room was really hot. I have no clue how those Death Eaters wear those fucking masks all the time. It was distracting.

“Anyway we’re going to attack it and get rid of communications. Well, not get rid of. We’re going to keep the attack quiet and  hopefully use the information, or something like that,” I say.

“You are absolutely useless, Harry,” Draco sighs.

I laugh.

“Better not let your parents hear that,” I say.

“I hate you,” he pouts.

“Of course you do,” I say with a smile.

We’re silent for a while.

“I’m sorry, you know. That I didn’t shake your hand or whatever,” I say.

“That was ages ago,” he says.

“Yeah, but…. you were right, weren’t you? And I wasn’t. So I’m sorry,” I say.

He shrugs.

“Okay,” he says.

I smile.

“Okay.”

* * *

 

I fling a protection shield in front of Tom and duck behind a stack of boxes. It’s not a very good shield, (He did kidnap me two months into my fifth year, after all!) but it serves its purpose. I laugh to myself. I love the danger of it all. Tom walks around my stack of boxes. A bloody cut drips down my forehead. His smile is wicked. He heals my skin, the tingle lasts after he’s long since finished.

“I’m capable of protecting myself, Harry,” Tom says.

I shrug and flick dust from his shirt. His arm wraps around my back.

“Reflex,” I say.

He sends a killing curse over my shoulder and shoves me behind him.

“I’m capable of protecting myself,” I mock.

“Of course you are,” he says.

And we’re off.There’s an exhilarating fire beneath the thrill of battle. I was beginning to miss this. I block a curse coming at my face and catch a glimpse of my hand. It still hasn’t healed correctly, leaving a jagged scar.

The weak resistance makes me smile. Severus is on our side, through and through. I slash at the leg of a man turning towards me. He goes down in a spray of red. Perhaps I should wonder what they would think, to see me now. Only, I don’t really care. Tom pulls me into his arms and we apparate away.

“And who is that?” I ask, pointing to the body he drags behind him.

“I’m going to have him shaved. Mischa!” Tom says as he walks around a corner.

I shrug and follow.


	7. Can You Find The Boy Who Lived?

“Is anyone looking for me?” I ask Tom as I attempt to turn off the lights the way he did.

He notices me struggling.

“Whatever you’re trying to do will require you to clear your mind, Harry,” Tom says lazily while reading the newspaper.

“I can’t clear anything with you sitting there,” I mumble.

“And why is that?” he asks.

“Because you make me fucking nervous, that’s why!” I say.

“Language,” he says.

I slump in my chair.

“What’s distracting you? You were doing so well before,” he says.

I don’t say anything. I keep staring at his stupid fingers and thinking about them in my hair, in...other places, thinking about how well I’ve been sleeping, and thinking about the dreams I’ve been dreaming.

They involve his stupid bloody fingers and- I turn away and twist my ring furiously.

“Harry, look at me,” Tom says.

He puts the paper down and moves in front of me. I stare at the floor.

“Look at me,” he says.

And damn it if I can’t resist parseltongue, which of course, he _knows_. He’s using it against me. He looks into my eyes and then into my mind. I can feel his fingers and he sees. He always sees.

Tom smirks.

“What a silly thing to keep from me,” he says.

He runs a finger down my face, following it as I shake and pull away. He picks me up and kisses me deeply. I wrap my legs around him. To avoid falling, of course. To avoid falling.

He tosses me onto the bed.

“What a silly thing to lie about,” he says.

And then he’s moving inside of me and I fall to pieces and he puts me back together again and we’re kissing and-

“I love you,” I say, even though it’s mad and he found it in my mind and he knows, he knows that I mean it.

He cradles me in his arms. I’m happy to stay there. I hope they never find me.

“Are they looking for me, Tom?” I ask, my earlier question not forgotten.

“They haven’t announced your disappearance yet. A year though it may be, I’m certain they’re still looking. The question is, do you want to be found?” he says.

I shake my head against his neck.

“Then they’ll never find you,” he says.

* * *

 

“You would think after a year they would’ve found me by now. Says a lot. I hold a letter from Draco in my hand. Just twelve months for history to become legend. How long until I am a myth? An impossible boy who gave his soul to an impossible man?

I sit against the headboard in our bedroom. I wonder at myself. Should I let myself care for Voldemort? A bit too late, I suppose but..Some would say it’s too soon. Some would call me crazy. He’s literally Voldemort.

I don’t care. Maybe I should care. But I don’t.

I know they’ll take me from him if they ever find me.

“Do you think they’ll stop looking?” I ask.

Tom looks over at me.

“I can’t imagine why they would,” he says

“Is that sentiment?” I ask.

He says nothing.

“Do you want to keep me around?” I ask.

Nothing.

“So you would, like, never stop looking for me if I was taken from you?” I tease.

He gives me a scathing look.

“You aren’t scary,” I mutter.

“Patronus, I suggest you find something to occupy your time that has nothing to do with me. Just how many of those have you eaten?” he says.

I tuck the bowl of cucumbers and vinegar behind the pillow.

“An amount,” I say.

He beckons for the bowl. I hiss and hold it tightly.

“I’m hungry,” I say.

“That’s disgusting,” he says, “We do own pickles, there’s no need to make your own.”

“You don’t want me here, then,” I sniff.

He sighs and puts down whatever it is he was working on. I tug on my necklace. It’s not unusual, to be unwanted. I’m used to it.

“You shouldn’t have kidnapped me, if you feel that way,” I say.

He rubs the bridge of his nose.

“If I tell you it was sentiment, will you go bother a Malfoy?” Tom asks.

I shrug and pop a cucumber slice into my mouth, the vinegar dripping down my fingers. Tom winces.

“I’m sure Narcissa requires your company, then,” he says.

I hold my cucumber bowl to my chest as I walk out, my head high.

* * *

 

I’ve been spending more time with Narcissa. I believe Tom has given her the job of “Harry’s Minder.” She’s nice. Funny, too. Something I didn’t expect. Draco has nearly no sense of humor, unless tripping first years counts for anything.

“You’re quite the cook. I didn’t expect it, if I’m being honest,” I say.

Narcissa smiles. I swing my foot against the chair I’m sitting on. I should order someone to buy shorter chairs. I’m in charge of things, aren’t I?

“Thank you, Harry. It took ages before the House elves stopped crying when I wandered into the kitchen for a snack. Eventually they let me learn, taught me some things,” she says.

I put down my fork.

“Could i-could I have pickles?” I ask.

“In your chili?” she asks.

Tom took my cucumber bowl away two days ago while I was sleeping.

“Er, never mind,” I stammer.

Not in. _With._ In would be atrocious.

She narrows her eyes and summons a jar of pickles. I pop one into my mouth and bite down.

“Thank you,” I say.

“Are you going back now? I imagine our Lord is finished with business,” she says.

I scoff.

“He's not my lord at all,” I say.

“ _Harry!_ ” Narcissa hisses.

“The only thing he's lording over is my cucumbers. I want them back!” I say.

“I'm not the one who has them,” she says with a slight chuckle.

“You're right. It's that utter assho-” I grumble.

“Harry, Narcissa,”Tom says.

I turn around and frown at him as dramatically as I can manage.

“Leave us,” Tom says.

His eyes blaze red as he glares at me. The room seems to narrow.

“Why are you acting so childishly?” he asks.

“Does it matter?” I say.

I eat another pickle, crunching it loudly. I could cry now. Am I sad? I can't tell.

“I'm fine,” I say.

He grabs my arm and pulls me into a hug..

“Voldemort,” I say.

He rubs his fingers in circles on my back.

“This… I've been here eleven months.. a year? I shouldn't..” I say.

“Is that what's been bothering you?” he asks.

“I proposed to you as a _joke,” I_ whisper.

“A joke?” Tom repeats, his voice cold.

“And you! You were supposed to kill me over it. You're supposed to be _scary_. You're supposed to kill people who question you and talk to you like that. You don't cuddle people and-” I say.

“Harry. Calm. Stay calm,” he says.

It isn't quite soothing, and that brings me back.

“I don't know why you're calming me down. I'm fine,” I say.

He chuckles and sits in the chair opposite mine, done with the coddling.

“And no one said you get to touch me. All the chairs in here are so tall. I'm not tall. That's unfair,” I say.

“Why do I talk to you?” he asks.

I sigh. He smiles at me, teeth sharp and flashing.

“I want to belong to you, Tom, so no one can say I don't belong here,” I say.

“You do. Your soul has belonged to me since I tried to kill you,” he says.

“True love's murder,” I smile.

“And with your asinine request -your _joke_ \- your body belongs to me as well. You are _mine_. As for Dumbledore, I'll kill anyone he sends for you,” he says.

“Good. I came up with an idea about Magic,” I say.

He inclines his head to show he's listening.

There's a ritual. I found it in a book in your library. It's a ritual to revive Magic. It says that Muggleborns are from pureblood Squib lines and something about pollution being counteracted,” I say, “and we could set up an orphanage for magical children and offer to take Muggleborns into it. That would stop abuse from magic hating Muggles like my family. Isn't that nice?”

He leans forward and kisses me breathless.

“You, love, are brilliant!” he says.

I focus on keeping my heart beating.

“Simply brilliant,” he says, not noticing my struggle.

“My heart is not beating,” I say calmly.

Tom places a hand on my chest. He breathes out.

“Yes, it is,” he says.

“No it is not. My heart is not working properly. I have died. Yes, that's it. I'm dead. You _killed_ me!” I say.

I hold my wrist between my fingers.

“My pulse isn't right either,” I say.

Tom grabs my wrist and kisses it.

“Harry, you are fine. I didn't hurt you. I wouldn't kill you. You are fine,” Tom says.

“No. The Dark Lord would never reassure me. He does not call people ‘love’,” I say,” I have died.”

He starts laughing and kissing my forehead. It's a bizarre sound.

“I love you, Patronus,” he says.

It's then that I decide that I'm still asleep. Not even dying could provide anything this perfectly wonderful. I sleep through him introducing me to his followers (the non Inner Circle ones) as his equal and future husband. I sleep through him informing everyone of the new plan. _My_ new plan. I must be so tired.


End file.
